CD - The Sense We Left Behind
by CalicoDiamond9
Summary: Based on a story told by Sam and Dean in the episode, "The Things We left Behind." Sam, Dean, and John Winchester are working a haunting in New York when Dean finds trouble. Teen!chester Warning: Spanking of minors and language. Enjoy and please review!
1. Chapter 1

**The Sense We Left Behind Part 1**

XXXXX

**Pontiac, Illinois: 2014**

Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat at the bar of a small business. And this bar was smashing. The business was slow and a lone man worked at the counter, but the decorations were killer. Palms trees, plastic hula girls, pictures of lonely waves on the ocean with multi-colored, paper flowers hanging from the walls and tiki lamps giving an artificial glow to the room.

Yes, this bar was a keeper. And the most out of place dive you'd find in Illinois, but maybe that was the beauty of it. Amongst farms, rolling hills, and the permeating smell of pigs, because corn and soybeans don't smell much at all, you could find a sliver of paradise for a few bucks a drink. And some authentic Hawaiian music, which was always a plus.

Similarly, the three men sitting at the bar looked out of place in the bright environment with the workers' floral shirts and happy smiles. They looked like farm, and hard work, and sadness. Castiel look liked the world had walked all over him, or a teenage girl, as he stared blankly past the counter. Sam's gaze flicked awkwardly between his Dean and the angel. They talked for a bit, discussing Claire and the plan.

Then Cas turned to Dean. "Did you love your father?"

Dean looked slightly taken aback as he pursed his lips in thought. He turned slightly to look to Sam, who gave him no help. Dean nodded tersely. "With everything I had."

"Yeah." Sam affirmed with a nod and a slight laugh. "Yeah. I mean it wasn't always easy, but yeah." He nodded again, taking a drink of whiskey as if to wash that statement down. Cas watched the two.

Dean nodded as well. "John Winchester's not going to win any number 1 Dad awards, you know, but damn if he wasn't there when we needed him." He shook his head, lifting his shot glass.

"Hey, uh," Sam leaned forward with a grin. "Tell him about that time in New York."

Dean furrowed his brow. New York… New York, oh, that one. "Oh yeah. Yeah okay, so, uh, we were working this haunting in Long Island and me and Sam begged the old man to let us go to the city, for once."

Sam nodded. "He had this thing about New York, right. Too big, too loud, too dirty…"

"Yeah and he hated the Yankees." Dean added.

"Big time, yeah." Sam laughed lightly.

Cas remained silent as they continued, humor playing across their features as they remembered the "old days."

Dean continued. "Somehow we convinced him to let us go. So, we go, you know, see all the sights and, uh, ride the subway, eat too much pizza the whole night. By about midnight Sam and Dad are zonked out and I figure, screw it, I'm going to CBGB."

XXXXX

**New York City, New York: 1993**

Dean Winchester pushed his way past a couple locked in an intense make out session. He had to give it to the guy, the man had the face of a horseradish and the chick was majorly hot. So the dude had scored, but still, get a room, man. Even worse was they were in the middle of the room.

Of course, the entire joint was hopping. The place was practically bursting with people, cigarette smoke, and the sound of punk rock blasting from speakers on either end of the stage. Plus the live band up there too. So it wasn't like they were blocking anyone really, or that there was a discernable middle of the floor. But a man could have standards. And Dean wasn't really the 'public display of affection' type.

Yeah no, just no.

Dean hadn't known what to do at first. It was mind blowing. And ear shattering. The place was even better than he'd thought it would be. Wait 'til he told Sammy… Dean continued to slip through towards the back of the small bar, towards the stage.

He wasn't sure why, but it felt more genuine to be near the front. CBGB. The original home of country, bluegrass, and other crap Dean didn't listen to. That was more Sammy's thing.

Now, the little bar in New York gave starts to rockers and punks. Blondie and the Ramones had gotten their start here. Dean figured if he played music he'd try to play here. But whatever, right?

A girl screamed next to him as some huge, like five hundred pound guy with a blue mowhawk screamed into his mic. Damn lady, chill out. Dean watched her take another swig of her blunt. Oh, that'd be why. And it made sense too, 'cause the guy singing wasn't even hot.

Not that Dean though about that shit, of course, but he was huge and had really small eyes. Plus a nasty looking scar on the side of his neck.

Dean paused near the stage's edge, keeping away from the bouncing people surrounding him. The huge dude leaned down into his mic, shouting something about death or what not and then the guy to his right started a killer guitar solo.

This was pretty damn cool…

XXXXX

As the music continued and a new band stepped up to set up, Dean glanced at the bar. People crowded the counters. Some sitting, others sprawled in their chairs or over the wood surface.

Some girl was drooling with her head in the lap of her date, Dean assumed, as he finished another shot. She would probably fall off the stool any minute now. And that would be freakin' hilarious. Dean grinned and sauntered towards the bar.

Not like he had an ID or anything, but he got in, hadn't he? It was sure worth a shot. Maybe literally. He almost reached the bar when he ran into a girl. Not hard considering they were everywhere, but still.

"Sorry, my bad." Dean said quickly, looking up.

And wow, her face was nice to look at. Or her tits were, Dean couldn't decide which was better. She had her long, blonde hair parted in the middle, and it fell in her face as she bent down slightly to look at him.

"Oh no. Of course. Me. It was me." Dean just nodded, letting his best grin slide into place. This couldn't hurt either.

"You come here often?" He asked.

She laughed. "Of course! Don't you?"

"No." But the music had vamped up as cords shook the room.

She looked at up the stage and Dean followed her gaze. Hair, lots more hair. And some instruments. They weren't bad at all. Dean figured he'd listen to stuff like that if they ever got a recording contract.

She looked back at him, shouting above the noise, "What'd you say?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Totally." He replied.

She nodded again. "Hey, why don't you come over and sit with me and my friends at our table?" She pointed towards more bodies. Or past them, more likely.

"Alright." Because you know, what the hell.

She giggled slightly, grabbing his hand and leading him through the crowd. Dean couldn't decide if this was good or if she thought he was her little pet. He didn't like the idea of that, since he was already a few months past his fifteenth birthday. So, you know, he was practically grown.

There were two other girls at the table, both perched on small bar stools in tight skirts and dresses. They were deep in an apparently invigorating conversation and were laughing. One had long hair very similar to the girl clutching his hand, and the second had darker hair with a kind of afro thing going on.

It was curly and it looked nice. That was all Dean felt he could say, not having much hair to deal with himself.

All three girls looked to be in their early twenties or so, probably old enough to drink at the very least. After all, they were in a bar drinking alcohol. Not that that was necessarily any kind of indicator, he was there too, but they would be more easily noticed.

"Girls!" She said, they turned to smile at Dean and his blonde escort. "This is…oh, did we give names?" She giggled. "I can't remember.

Oh good. At least she cared. But Dean grinned. "I don't believe we did. I'm Dean."

She nodded. "Great. Girls," She said, pulling him forward to rest his hands on the table and putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is Dean. Dean this is Serenity and Monique… Oh, and I'm Faith." She smiled.

He nodded. "Hi ladies. How ya doin'?"

"Oh just super! You want something to drink?" Replied the dark haired girl.

"Sure. Whatcha got?"

Faith laughed. She had a nice laugh, Dean thought. "Well, we have margaritas. Maybe you'll want something stronger?"

"Oh. Oh yeah, sure." Dean smiled. "Bring on the alcohol!"

The girls laughed again.

"Teddy!" The other blonde called, waving her hand. What was her name? Serenity. Dean could guess her parents' affiliations…

A waiter with a thick head of hair and about a dozen tattoos, mainly of flowers and naked women pushed through the mass of people in the center of the room. Under his arm he held his tray. Dean figured he was the only male bartender in the place. The rest were hot as hell, had long hair, and, well yeah, they were girls.

"What can I do for you fine ladies?" Teddy winked.

"Well," Monique piped up. "We need something strong. How about… uhm, three shots and two beers." She gave him another winning smile, leaning forward to push her cash into his hands.

Teddy nodded, grabbing the green backs. "Sure thing, sweetheart." He rushed off.

"Don't worry." Faith said, leaning towards Dean. "We've got you covered."

"Thanks," Dean asked. "But I'll pay for my own." He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, giving her what he thought would cover his beer.

"Well of course," Serenity smiled, taking the money. "We'll just order some for you. I mean, you gotta drink while you're here, it wouldn't be as good if you didn't! Your parents won't mind, right?"

So they did know. Damn. And it was going so well too…

"Right. Yeah, _they'll_ be good with it."

XXXXX

"Drink, drink, drink, drink!" The girls shouted in unison. Dean flashed them a grin before tipping the two shot glasses into his mouth. The bite of the alcohol wasn't shocking anymore; actually it was enjoyable. And the girls loved it. They loved him.

He finished the two off and smacked his lips, shaking is head. "Dude." He slurred happily. "I can't do anymore, you-you are all so beau…be…be-o-t-ful. You know that?"

The girls laughed. "And you're a handsome young gentleman!" Monique exclaimed.

"Our favorite little guy!" One of the others added.

"Ha!" Dean said loudly, laughing overtaking him. "'M not a little guy. Not you-or little guy."

"That's okay, Deano." Faith soothed, clasping his hand.

The other girls nodded in agreement. Dean continued to laugh. "Better get some more a that, uh, gold juice. It's gold, 'm telling you guysss." He grinned.

"You want another beer?" Serenity asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay. I'll get one too and we'll have a contest. See who can finish it first!"

Dean nodded again, another chuckle escaping his lips. Soon after, Teddy arrived at the table with the drinks and the girls thanked him once more.

"Ready?" Faith asked. The two nodded, grasping their glasses and leaning forward, looking into each other's eyes "Set. Go!" She announced.

Serenity and Dean began to chug their glasses, heads titled back and throats going to work. The Dean began to slow. In all honesty, with what was left of his consciousness and brain capacity, he could tell he felt nauseous. Very nauseous.

"Come on, Dean!" Faith exclaimed, clutching at his arm.

Monique leaned forward. "She's beating you! Come on!"

Dean shook his head, setting the glass down heavily on the table. Or what he thought was the table. It was tilting slightly; blue swirls or worms spinning around the edges and erupting from the girl's hair. One, two, three, one, two, and swirl.

"Dude." Dean slurred, leaning forward into the table, his forehead barely missing the table top before he popped back up, a pained look on his face. "'M gonna… Imma gonna puke up my guts."

"Aww honey, do you not feel good? "

Dean shook his head, looking around. Everything was moving too fast. The blurring lines and shapes of people and the dizzying loudness of the music surrounded him and suppressed him. Dean gagged.

"He's gonna hurl!" One of his new found friends shrieked.

Dean shook his head violently, standing up to move from the table.

"Oh Dean! Dean don't stand. Dean!"

Dean gagged again, letting his head drop and resting his hands on his knees. Dean breathed deeply.

"DEAN WINCHESTER!"

**To be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Sense We Left Behind Part 2**

_"DEAN WINCHESTER!"_

His old man. Dean didn't know how, but his Dad had found him. For a moment the young teen felt hopeful, like his savior had come for him to help him from the waves of confusion. Then Dean remembered where he was. And he didn't want his Dad to know he was drunk. Because Dean was positive he would be pissed. Come to think of it, it already sounded like he was.

Dean raised his head slowly, full of trepidation. The bands had been switching places once again on stage, so no music was playing at the moment. In fact, the bar was deathly quiet. A few nervous murmurs swept through the room, people shifted in place, but they all looked to the ground. Dean glanced to his left, swiping at his nose and mouth. His Dad strode forward with quick, forceful steps as the crowds parted.

Hard core punks, ditzy girls in tight clothes, the bar tenders, everyone had stopped to watch. None of them would meet his Dad's eye though. If Dean thought about it, he didn't really want to either. Fucking stupid is what it was. A pink swirl curled behind Faith and John Winchester reached his son, pulling Dean up by the arm. And he knew instantly by the dazed and pained look on Dean's face that he was drunk. Damn that kid…

Dean groaned. "Daaad…"

"I don't want to hear it, Dean." The man replied gruffly, pulling his son through the crowd. "Let's go."

Dean ducked his head in embarrassment, cheeks flaming and head clearing. The nausea was leaving him replaced by utter mortification. Because, you know, this was messed up. Who dragged their fourteen year-old by the arm? John Winchester. They continued until they had almost reached the door, when John bumped roughly into a large object.

Dean looked up from the jostle, staring into the face of a large guy. He had a freakin' safety pin through his nose, a shaved head, and a kill everything tattoo. Actually, a lot of them.

He looked up at John. "Sorry, sir." He mumbled, stepping back to let them pass.

_Sorry, sir?_ Dean bit back a smile. As terrible as it all was, that was pretty damn funny. Only for his Dad would some bad ass dude think he needed to say sir… And John Winchester just marched forward like, 'hell yes, I am sir to you, all of you.'

XXXXX

They stopped a few blocks down the street behind the businesses in an abandoned parking lot. Well, abandoned except for them and Baby.

"Dad!" Dean yelled for a third time, finally managing to wrench his arm from his father's grasp. "Dad I get it, okay? I fucked up. But you can't just… you can't just go and—"

"And pull you out of the bar, Dean? Is that what I can't do?" John growled, crossing his hands over his chest, eyes boring into the young teen.

Dean pulled up taller. "Yeah. I was having a good time—"

"Drinking? Is that what you call a good time?!" His Dad roared.

Dean glanced at the black top beneath his feet. "Why'd you havta go and embarrass me like that?"

"Because you are too young to be drinking, and hanging out in bars with punk ass kids who smoke pot and have sex every night." John glared back at the boy. "You get back to me in seven years and I'll let you have beer. Until then, you will keep your ass away from bars. I don't care how old you are, I will light your ass up. Are we clear?"

But Dean being brave and not some scared little girl, only pushed his chest out and stood up straighter. And damn it made his head spin. Alcohol sucked.

"Yeah." He spit.

"Excuse me?"

Dean kicked at the loose gravel next to him. Every fiber of his being told him to say no, scream at the man, kick and get his way. Instead he stiffly ground out a, "Yes, sir."

John nodded, looking his son over one more time before turning towards the Impala. "Get in the car."

Dean watched his Dad walk away, his steps just as firm and heavy as before. Dean kicked at the ground again before following the man. This was fucking stupid.

His Dad stopped by the front side door of the car, watching Dean's slow pace with annoyance. "Son, you better loose that attitude or I might just whip your ass here." He growled.

Dean stalked past avoiding his father's eyes. Without warning, John's hand flew out, cracking down hard on Dean's butt and the boy yelped, jerking back.

"Ow, Dad! What the hell?" Dean rubbed his butt ruefully, mumbling something about hating the man under his breath.

John went to grab Dean to continue, but thought better of it. The boy wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.

Instead he stood firmly by Dean. "Son, you don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked, it's my job to raise you right."

With that, he climbed into the front seat of the Impala, turning her keys and starting the engine. Dean slowly slide into the passenger side, his body squeezed at to the door, as far from his Dad and his hands of fire as possible. He felt pretty dumb, if he was honest. But he was still pissed. Then again, he figured his Dad was too.

XXXXX

John Winchester awoke to the sound of heaving. Not vomiting, heaving. He groaned, pulling himself out of bed to stumble towards the bathroom door. The sliver of light was welcoming, but Dean sounded miserable. The older man glanced at the clock, 5:22. Well, it's as good a time as any to get up….

He pushed the door open to find his oldest clutching the edges of the toilet bowl, head hanging low in exhaustion. Dean felt like shit. And had the Mother of all hangovers. Not that he could say he had experience, considering it was his first (and he was swearing at that moment it would also be his last). But still, it sucked.

His stomach churned like a damn whirlpool and his head felt like it would explode. He looked up at his Dad, eyes squinting from the burning, bright lights and only half awake.

John leaned on the doorway. "What do you remember?"

"I… can't remember a damn thing." He replied. "Oh. Some, uh, some hot girls… Dad?"

John gave the young teen a stern look. "Language, Dean." The boy nodded before dipping his head again, ready to puke again.

When Dean turned back to him, John continued: "You decided to sneak off to a bar. Past midnight." He sighed heavily, crossing his arms. "Dean, why are we here?"

"Because I'm puking a shitload of beer into the toilet." Dean grinned.

John snorted. "No, smartass, because we are stopping a vengeful spirit."

"Lotta good work we're doing…" Dean mumbled. They hadn't made much progress with all the research they'd done, after all...

"Cut the attitude." John growled, allowing his voice to deepen. "What are the rules when we're on a hunt?"

"Look after Sammy—"

"The other rules, Dean."

Dean watched his Dad for a moment. "Uh, don't go to bars after midnight and get drunk?" He suggested.

"No." John growled. "I'm thinking about adding that after I put you over my knee though."

Dean cringed. Too far, man. John took a step towards his son and Dean gulped.

"Uh, uh. Dad, wait! It's uhm, you know, don't wander…oh! Stay together?"

John sighed. "Good enough. Dean, I make these rules for a reason; my line of work is dangerous. And what you did was illegal—"

"Dad, I know…"

"If you knew, why the hell did you do it?!" He exclaimed in exasperation.

Dean scooted his back against the cold, porcelain bowl of the toilet. "I don't know, sir. Because I wanted to see CBGB. It's a big deal, you know? It's where—"

"The Ramones and Blondie got their start. Yes, Dean, I know." John sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face, anger barely suppressed. "But it's a bar and you shouldn't have been alone or drinking."

Dean hung his head. "Yes, sir."

John nodded. "Need to get anything else out?" He asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, sir." He didn't have to vomit anymore, or gag. Which was a relief. Except, he still felt like shit and come to think of it, he probably looked like it to. But he just stood up slowly, sighing as he faced his Dad.

John closes the door behind himself, moving farther into the room. And Dean couldn't help but wince, he hated these moments, watching freedom fly away with the shutting of the bathroom door. He realized he also hadn't bothered to get dressed. Not like it had been a top priority when he woke up and felt like his stomach was going to explode. Through his mouth. But still, he wished he was.

His Dad pointed toward the sink counter. "Put your hands there, kiddo."

Dean grabs the counter carefully, breathing in and out. What the hell else was he supposed to do? He heard the snick of his Dad's belt as it pulled through the loops. It wasn't the first time he'd heard it. His Dad didn't prefer spanking him like that, but hell, whatever John Winchester felt was necessary. Like this dumbass punishment, Dean thought.

Anyway, he was hoping it would be one of the last times he heard that sound and felt his stomach clench in worry. Probably not, but a kid could hope.

"I was going to give you fourteen," His Dad announced, "But since you were twenty-one all of last night I think eighteen sounds like a better option."

Fuck. Well thanks, glad we had this talk, Dean groaned inwardly. This was going to hurt so-freaking-bad…

Dean heard the loud crack before he felt it, strange thing about that. It was a loud whistle and than a crack as it met his skin. He sucked his breath in as the sting resonated. Yep, he was right, this was going to sting like hell.

John swung again, this time matching the first red stripe with a second slightly below. Dean bucked forward. Five more strokes find Dean gasping and jerking away. Another firm and searing line of red marks Dean and he reared up from his position.

"Jesus! Dad, ow!"

"Back down, Dean, you're doing great." His Dad says firmly, guiding him back into place. Dean grits his teeth. His ass hurts like hell and he isn't half way through. The strokes keep coming, and Dean breaks into tears, letting them fall as the belt does. He lands a final crack of the belt on Dean's red, painful backside and listens to the boy cry.

John dropped the belt, quickly pulling the teen into a rough hug. Dean found himself clinging to his Dad, tears running down his face and wetting his father's shirt. His nose was running to who knows where, but it was a lot. John rubbed calming circles into Dean back, resting his chin on his son's head.

Dean smelled of sweat and vomit, beer and boy. And John's eyes teared. He realized once again how much he loved the kid, for all his smartass comments and stupid stunts. Dean was his son. Dean sniffed, pulling away slightly to rub the remaining tears from his eyes from the back of his hands.

"Man, Dad. That freaking hurt!" He whined, a small smile creeping back onto his features.

John snorted. "And who's fault is that?"

"I'm sorry, Dad. I won't be that stupid again." Dean said.

John nodded again. He was sure he'd be back here again, John just hoped to God it wouldn't be too soon.

XXXXX

Sammy lay peacefully in his bed, surprising considering the amount of noise that had been coming from the bathroom only moments ago. Dean smirked, looking at his kid brother. Sammy was such a girl. You know, just because. He walked over to the bed, shaking Sammy's shoulder.

"Sammy. Sammy, hey, wake up!"

The younger boy opened his eyes sleepily. "Whatcha want, Dean? I'm… tired." He whined.

"Sammy." John spoke as he began to pack his bag. "We're going to get some breakfast, champ, then we're going to the library to do some research."

"Aww, Dad…" Both boys whined, but were silenced with one look from their father.

"Dad, can't we stay here? Sammy can't do shit and my head is killing me. Plus my ass won't survive!" Dean pleaded.

"Hey!" Sammy exclaimed in indignation, sitting upright.

"Dean, language." John admonished a second time, fishing a bottle out of his bag. He tossed the asprin to the boy. "Don't make me tell you again. And no, you and I are researching. I need some help, it is a complicated case."

"Wait, so do I get to gank it with you?" Dean asked with a grin.

"No." John sighed, grabbing a shirt off the floor. "You will stay with Sammy. Like I said, it's a dangerous case."

**TBC**

**Thank you all so much for your kind words and reviews! I'm glad you're all enjoying my story; hopefully this chapter is up to par! I'm loving working with this idea, but also making it my own. There are ghost hunt(s) to come…**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Sense We Left Behind 3**

"Lock the doors, check the salt lines—"

"Yes, sir. I got it."

John nodded, giving Dean's shoulder a firm squeeze. "That's my boy."

Dean snorted, moving aside. Boy his ass. But heck, Dean took what he could get. John smiled, adjusting his duffle over his shoulder and watching Sammy. Sam stood confidently by Dean, his smaller frame almost in Dean's shadow. But both boys were stiff. They wanted to come; John knew it.

And they'd put up a fight too, telling him it was unfair, mainly Dean. Pointing out how they could help, again, mainly Dean. But they'd quickly been stifled by the threat of a beat down and extra PT the next day. Dean had let out a few choice remarks before sitting in stony silence in the Impala. And Sammy had been silent too.

At that moment, Sammy looked unsure, but finally did go over and John pulled him into a brief hug.

John Winchester wasn't big on hugs. Neither was Dean, as the teen constantly mentioned. "No chick flick moments." Yeah, that was John's boy. But Sam was different. Sammy was still a kid, as Dean figured, and truth be told, John didn't mind it.

Sammy pulled back from their Dad, a small smile on his face. He hated hunting, and training, and he hated John leaving them. John knew that too. But they had to be safe, and God knows the world wasn't that.

"Don't do anything stupid."

He got two quick yes, sirs. It was a drill really, like anything the boys did. Yes, sir, no, sir. Get it done and shut up. John nodded and watched Sammy wander into the other room to his books. Dean grabbed the door as John stepped outside, ready to leave.

"Watch out for Sammy." He said for the umpteenth time.

Dean nodded. "Always, Dad."

John nodded as well, turning to go. Then he stopped. "And Dean?"

Dean looked surprised.

"Love ya, kid." John said gruffly, before turning to go.

And if that didn't beat all…

XXXXX

Dean had shuffled into the half room with their beds. It was a pretty shitty room, if Dean said so himself. Not very big and it smelled like zucchini, or something like that. Dean couldn't remember. It was green, so he mainly avoided it.

But there were two double beds, some strange smelling chairs, and clothes… well, clothes pretty much everywhere. Dean grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor, nudging a boot towards his own duffle with his foot and walked over to the double he and Sam were sharing.

Sam lay sprawled of the edge, laying on his stomach and propped up on his elbows. Dean smacked the younger boy's foot aside, jumping onto the bed. He watched Sam grimace and bounce slightly as he adjusted himself. Sure he was older, but that satisfying look of annoyance, that could last Dean for a while. Because, after all, Dean was watching Sammy.

Dean smirked, but Sam didn't give him the satisfaction of his usual bitchy whines, just a glance over his book.

"You know, there's another bed over there, Dean." Sam readjusted himself in annoyance.

Dean snorted. "That's Dad's bed."

"He won't care."

"Yeah, but you do, short stuff." Dean grinned. "And I just want to be with you." He finished in a high-pitched voice, patting Sam's head and ready to laugh.

Sam glared at his brother, swatting Dean's hand away and rolling to his side. "Shut up."

Dean grinned again, settling into a magazine he had snagged earlier. Good times.

XXXXX

It had been around an hour since their Dad had left and Dean was restless. Very restless. He knew it would be a long hunt, Dad had to drive the hour and a half to get to the place, crossing East River with tolls. But yeah, Dad had said not to expect him for a day or two. So that wasn't it.

At all.

Dean just wanted to help. He was fifteen after all. Fifteen-freaking-years old. He'd be able to drive soon, graduate high school in like, well, three years. And yet here he was, stuck with Sammy. And it wasn't like he hadn't hunted. He'd killed his first supernatural being at eight, he'd been on hunts, he'd trained. He just hated waiting like some little kid.

Dean glanced back at Sammy before standing. They'd spent the day at the library, searching old manuscripts, newspapers, and books for stories, lore, and information. And honestly, as hard as it was to get information from people, since no one knew jack shit, the research had been easy to do. And it would be a pretty cut and dry case.

Hospital burnt down twice, lady in white haunting the place. Cemetery a few miles from the area to find her bones, or talk to the chick. But that could be a bad idea. But his Dad needed a number two man to have his back, it was a big place, restricted, and there was a freaking ghost too.

So Dean paced.

Sam watched his brother move in and out of the room, always stopping before their Dad's bed and Sam. He had that thinking look on and Sam knew it could only mean one thing. He wasn't doing schoolwork, and when it was about a girl, he was usually smiling, or bragging about it. But now, Dean looked indecisive and conflicted.

And that was not usually a good sign. Sam sighed.

Finally, Dean sat down with a slight grimace, remembering his 'talk' with his Dad earlier. This was a terrible idea. But Dean grabbed his sweatshirt again, shoving his feet into shoes.

"Wait, Dean. Dean, what are you doing?" Sam put his book down.

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"You can't though, Dad said—"

"Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but I don't give a rat's ass what Dad said. He needs me."

He jumped up, grabbing the spare 9 millimeter off the makeshift table and checking the rounds. Good enough. He grabbed his knife from under his pillow, tucking it in his belt with the gun. He tossed the other gun to Sam.

"Keep it with you. Shoot if you have to, but don't leave the room." Dean strode to the door.

Then Sam was on his feet.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a jackass."

"Hey." Dean turned in surprise, hand wavering over the handle of the hotel door. "What the heck, man? I'm just keeping you safe, Dad's orders."

"Dad's orders?" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, Dad told _both_ of us to stay here. You too. You can't just leave and tell me, 'oh, stay here, Sammy, be good.'" Sam mimicked his older brother's voice.

Dean sighed, crossing his arms. "Actually I can. I'm the oldest and I'm in charge."

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts, Sammy, except yours', which had better stay here." Dean pointed at his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. "But Dads' in charge of you. He told you to stay here."

"Well I'm not." Dean growled. "Dad's gonna need my help, so I'm going. I'll be back later. Don't leave, got it?"

Sam huffed. He didn't know why, but Dean was incorrigible. His logic was terrible, but Sam knew he wouldn't win. Dean was going and when their Dad found out, there'd be Hell to pay. Probably for them both. Man he hated when Dean did this…

But he just nodded.

"I'm coming with you." Sam went to walk towards Dean.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No." Dean pushed the younger boy back. "Not happening. Ever."

"Oh come on, Dean," Sam whined. "You're going after Dad told you not to."

"Yeah, because I'm fifteen and I can."

"Technically you can't."

"Technically, I can kick your ass." Dean replied, and Sam was careful of the slight warning in his voice.

Dean didn't spank him. Sure, they'd fight, or Dean would smack him upside the head, or throw him onto the couch. That one was terrible. But Dean had never actually spanked Sam. And come to think of it, Sam didn't know what their Dad would think of it. It probably wasn't allowed, but a kid never knew.

"But you can keep me way safer if I'm with you. By myself, Dean, what if I run out? Or if you're gone forever, we don't have enough food. I can't stay here!"

Dean sighed, crossing his arms once again, he hated arguing with Sammy like this. And there went the puppy dog eyes.

"Don't pull that shit with me, Sammy." Dean groaned quietly. "You aren't coming, so don't even try."

He turned to go, but Sam grabbed his arm again.

"I have to, Dean. I can't just be here. I want to help to. And I'll get in trouble either way, so I might as well come."

Dean paused, thinking about it. The kid had some balls. "Fine."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"But you have to go over the case with me on the subway. And no shit, no whining, no nothin'. Got me?"

Sam nodded.

XXXXX

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sure it was padded with some whimsical, space themed fabric, but man, it hurt. Just another reminder of the 'talk' he'd had with his Dad. Normally it would have been worse to sit, but after sitting all day at the damn library in those wooden chairs… Dean shivered at the memory… well, this was practically a plush, feathered, pillow.

Keep it together, man.

"Okay," He leaned down to whisper in Sam's ear. "We're going to this place, Mount Misery. Lots of people, some houses. Haunted road leading up to it. Basically a lot of supernatural shit."

Sammy rolled his eyes. "Dean, I know."

"No, you don't. So listen and shut up."

Sam leaned his head back against the glass in annoyance, but he shut up.

"We're going to the site of the burned down insane hospital from 1840. It's all restricted now, so we'll be doing some sweet commando stuff. You stay with me—"

"All the time. Yeah. You know," Sam said. "You're starting to sound like Dad."

Dean scowled. "You coming or not? 'Cause I'll dump your ass."

The woman across from them and her small dog with a matching, pinched face gave them a look. Dean grimaced in apology and Sam tried to look pleasant. Nothing unusual here, Grandma, just two boys with no parents and hidden weapons riding the subway late at night.

Normal, completely normal.

Dad would kick their asses. Come to think of it, and Sam did, he _was_ going to kick their asses. But maybe they'd save his first. Either way it wouldn't end well.

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Alright, so shut your cake hole." Dean replied in annoyance. "The hospital burned down years and years ago, then it was rebuilt, only to burn down again. This time, a bunch of people were in it. Now, people see this chick in white—"

"Her name was Melinda." Sam voiced.

Dean fixed him with a look, but just shrugged that time. "Yeah, sure. This Melinda chick was a patient. Everyone else got out but her ward. She likes to jump in front of cars, grab people, and just walk around a lot. Not too big."

"So what are we doing?"

"Salting and burning her bones or talking to her. Probably number one. But hell, whatever Dad decides."

"What if he's done and on his way home, since it's so easy?" Sam asked in a hushed voice.

"We go back. Why, you scared, Samantha?" Dean teased.

"No. I just… never mind. I'm good."

"Good. 'Cause you wanted to come on this mission." Dean sat back, leaning his head against the glass as well and crossing his hands over his chest.

Sam nodded. Yeah, he wanted to come. Maybe. Sort of.

**TBC**

**Yay! Thank you all for your patience, I'm sorry I couldn't get this up earlier, like I said before, my computer died. I'm taking it in tomorrow to see what we can recover from the hard drive, but for now, I'm rewriting the story. Thank you for reading/favoriting/following/reviewing!**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Sense We Left Behind 4**

"Shit."

"What?" Sam asked. "Dean, wait, what? What's up?"

Dean shook his head. "Forgot the damn lighter. We go to the freakin' store, I spend my extra money, and I forget the lighter." He shook his head again, scrubbing his hand down his pant leg.

Sam sighed.

It had taken them a subway ride, a trip to some drug store, three pickles, and a skeptic taxi driver to get there. Now, they stood on Sweet Hollow Road, the winding black top heading into Mount Misery. And yikes, it made a kid shiver. Or teenager who was almost a man. Pretty much. Dean smacked Sam's flashlight, causing the beam to flicker.

"So what do we do?"

Sam wasn't sure. This whole thing was a terrible idea, and were it up to him, they'd be at the hotel sleeping. Or reading, maybe. But Dean shook his slowly.

"No."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "Oh come on, we can't do anything!"

Dean looked down at him. "Yeah. Let's go talk to this chick, see what her deal is."

"But–" Sam began to argue.

Dean hefted the bag of salt higher on his shoulder, walking forward steadily. "On my six, Sammy. We gotta find this place."

Sam growled in frustration, jogging to catch up to his long legged companion. "So what? You want me to hold your belt loops too, Dean?" He said sarcastically.

Dean didn't laugh. Or stop.

"Whatever makes you feel better, kid.

Sam wanted to groan. "You know, that whole thing's getting real–"

"Shh." Dean held up a hand, turning on him. "What'd I say?"

If looks could kill, Sam was would have been six feet deep.

"Another word and I dump your ass. You wanna go sit in the Impala? 'Cause you can, I'll make it happen."

Sam shook his head sullenly. "No. I just–"

"You just what?" Dean looked pissed.

Sam shrugged.

"You said you wanted to help Dad. That's why we came." Sam crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I do. And we will. But we don't have fire, so this chick isn't going down. We talk to her. I mean, c'mon, Dad's probably up there having a damn tea party while I sit here talking to you."

"No, because Dad came prepared. We're not even supposed to be here." Sam gestured to the dark road.

Dean glared at the younger boy. But then Sammy did that thing with his eyes. Damn manipulative little bastard. He sighed. "Let's go, we're sitting ducks out here."

Dean continued to walk confidently forward, the small line of light from the flashlight guiding him down the road until the fork. The maple trees swayed quietly in the crisp breeze. Damn freaky is what it was. But no white lady-ghost. Dean turned up the left road, pausing only to hear Sam's grudging footsteps behinds him. Damn kid.

XXXXX

Past the daunting, broken chain link fence, there were no true ruins of the insane asylum. Of course, the hospital had burnt down over one hundred years before, so anything left would be hazardous. And haunted, Sam thought.

A few out buildings made of cement, like an old shed, the foundations, and some remnants of walls remained. Trees twisted in unnatural shapes growing out of the foundation, through shattered windows and over the leaf-ridden path. Sam shivered again.

Dean looked back at his brother, grabbing the younger boy by the shoulder and pulling him forward.

"So what are we looking for?"

"Her name was Melinda Dermer. She was a nurse, I think."

"You said she was a patient." Dean stated flatly.

Sam shrugged. "Accounts aren't clear. Either way, she was crazy."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, some of the sources said she was locked up for seeing things and other said she was the nurse who burnt the place to the ground."

"Huh." Dean nodded, shifting his weight. "So why?"

Sam shrugged again. "It isn't clear. Some think she had a romance with a man named Marcus, but I don't know much more."

"Okay, so angry chick with guy problems." Dean nodded, pausing. "I got nothin'."

"Well, it's more than that. Dean, I think she knew about the supernatural."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "But she wasn't a hunter?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It was a while ago, so probably only men hunted."

Dean nodded.

"Okay. I say we walk around, try and find her. And then, I dunno, try and figure out her problems."

Sam shrugged. "I guess. She had a lot of problems though and I don't which ones were real."

Dean surveyed the dark area. It was quiet except for a cool wind blowing the trees and rustling the leaves. But still no white lady.

"Well you'll help me out." He replied, walking again.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know, if you actually did the research, you'd know this."

"No one asked you, Sammy." Dean said light heartedly, swinging the flashlight side ways.

"Jerk." Sam mumbled.

"Bitch."

Sam smiled, falling in step with his older brother.

XXXXX

A moment later, Sam slammed against a solid force, falling hard onto his hands and knees. Dean spun, eyes scanning the air surrounding them, tensed for a fight. Sam gasped as the air returned to his lungs slowly and painfully. He looked up. And then he saw her.

The white lady. Melinda Dermer was thin, her slender fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides as she stared the boys down. Sam shivered, letting Dean pull him up by the arm. Her dark hair and gown floated around her willowy frame like smoke. She didn't look insane. Saddened certainly, scared even. Sam felt more than ever like it was a meeting with a snake, he was dangerous to her and her to him, but they were both afraid of one another.

Dean gripped Sam's arm tightly, supporting his brother. "So, uh, you're Melinda…right?"

The ghost swayed slightly, glancing the boys over once more. "Who are you to ask me this?"

"Dean Winchester. This's my brother, Sam."

"Mm." Melinda crooned, eyes flashing in the glow of the flashlight. "Are you not afraid of my presence?"

Dean straightened himself. "Should we be?"

She smiled. And for the first time, it wasn't pleasant or scared, but chilling. Immediately the ghost blinked out of existence and reappeared inches from Dean's face. Dean jumped back, swinging his flashlight like a baton through her…. and nothing…. not a damn thing happened. Shocked, Dean swiped out again blindly, waiting for her to show herself.

The flashlight flew from his hand, slamming against a tree meters away, the light flickering dangerously. Light eyes turned to Dean, ripping Sam from his grasp.

"Dean!" The kid screamed as the woman's arms enveloped him and they disappeared within swirling tendrils of smoke and mist.

XXXXX

Dean grasped at the air, struggling for a breath. "Sammy." He whispered.

The fear clenched at his stomach like an animal and he heaved for breath. The bitch had his brother. His Sammy. Dean felt lost in that moment, on the dark path in the middle of the woods. Sammy was gone, possibly soon to be dead and the flashlight went out. Now it was darkness.

Dean ran blindly back down the path. He had to find his Dad.

XXXXX

"Your brother is a fool." The ghost's thin lips twisted in disgust.

The boy shuddered. "You can't take him seriously. He didn't mean any of it, really. He's just like that."

"Indeed." She floated farther away. At least it looked like it. Sam couldn't tell if she had feet, but she was probably floating. "Well, fool hardy comments are no better. People could die from casual statements such as his."

She turned once more to Sam, eyeing him like a meal.

"I-I can help you." Sam whispered, scooting backwards slightly to sit up.

"How do you suppose you'll do that, child?"

"I'm not a child!" Sam said indignantly. "I'm eleven."

Melinda did not reply, she merely watched Sam carefully, floating in small circles. She was pacing, Sam realized, almost as if she was debating something. Probably debating killing him.

Sam gulped. "You loved him though, didn't you?"

"If you refer to your brother—"

"Marcus. I was talking about him. You loved him, right?"

She turned abruptly. "I could not love him."

Sam nodded. "But you did."

She flew towards him, thin hands grasping at his throat. Sam choked, hands clawing at her to no avail. She pressed her thumbs hard into his throat, the painful combination of chilling air and strength suppressing his breath.

XXXXX

Dean ran. Faster than he remembered running in a long time. He ran for PT, he had run track once, for school, but now Sammy's life was in danger. And in all honesty, his probably was too. But anger and fear pumped Dean's legs, adrenaline coursing through his veins and picking his feet up in quick and regular cadence.

Dean turned to look back at the path behind him, the oppressing darkness closing in, swallowing up the road. Back where Melinda and Sam were. Maybe. He went to turn his head and ran straight into a solid object. Hard.

And then Dean fell, harder. He found himself on his back, as a shadow hovered over him. The stunned boy's arms had flown out beside him, now slowly moving towards his face as he blinked furiously. Shit. Dean tried to rollover on the pavement, away from the danger.

"Dean?" A gruff voice questioned.

In the haze of his mind, Dean knew who it was. Dad.

His old man.

Dean smiled slowly, grimacing as his father pulled him up by his arm. He shook his head slowly, letting his hands rest on his knees as he adjusted to the changes in position. He felt his Dad's heavy hand on his back. It was supportive. But more importantly, he was there.

"Dad." Dean began to right himself, only to be pulled into a firm hug.

John held the boy tightly, his hand grasping the sweaty head of his oldest son, while pressing the boy into his shoulder. He pulled back quickly, holding Dean at arm's length. John checked what he could in the dim light from a faulty streetlight.

"You hurt?"

Dean shook his head. "No, sir."

John nodded, checking the teen over a final time before seeming satisfied. Dean watched the shadow of his father scrutinized him with concern. Then the worry faded to anger. "Then why the hell are you here?" John growled.

Dean gulped. "I wanted to help."

"And this is what you do? You leave Sammy alone, you come here, not even prepared—"

"Dad!" Dean interrupted. "It's Sammy."

"What? Goddamn it, Dean, tell me what the fuck is wrong." John's voice was laced with worry.

"He's gone, Dad. She took him. The ghost bitch took him."

**TBC**

**That was cruel, admittedly. I'm sorry, mostly. Anyway, thank you all for reading my story. Even more so, thank you for your comments, kind words, and general support; it is greatly appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Sense We Left Behind 5**

Bile rose in John's throat and he curled his fists. He had to find Sammy, now.

He looked down at this oldest. Dean hung his head, tears stinging the backs of his eyes in shame and sorrow. He'd lost his little brother. And God knew Sammy couldn't make it by himself, the little bastard.

Dean wanted to be there for Sam, to tell the kid it would be fine, or even that they were coming. But who was he fucking around with, it wasn't going to be.

Dean watched his Dad spring to action, running to the Impala, grabbing his flashlight, and taking off into the woods in search of his Sammy. Dean swiped at his eyes, running after his Dad.

Dear God, help Sammy, he thought.

XXXXX

"D…Daaaad!" Sam tried to wail, but it came out as a choke with the ghost pressing down on his throat. He felt his eyes bulge, as pressure built in his head.

Melinda's ghost leaned forward over him, and Sam found himself held immobile, unable to shift away. He gasped in pain.

"Sthop." He coughed, trying to move his head. "P-please…"

Melinda's eyes glinted venomously, her fingers easing slightly. He gasped for air like a fish close to death on a beach. "You try to disturb me? You insult me? And you plead for release?" The woman crooned with an evil smile. "You _are_ weak."

Sam gasped again, feeling her cold fingers wrapping around his neck in a vice-like grip. This time it was harder, so much harder. His eyes rolled back into his head, the black haze giving way to oblivion. So this is what it felt like to die. Sam gasped and closed his eyes.

XXXXX

Dean and John scored the site of the hospital for what seemed like an eternity. Dean didn't know what to do. This was the closest he'd come to crying about anything in a long time. And crying was for girls. But he felt like shit. He was tired, confused, he head was killing him, and he'd lost Sammy. His Sammy.

"Sammy!" John bellowed. "Come on, give me something, Sammy!" _Where are you, kid?_

John spun around in the clearing, staring through the surrounding trees; the weak shine of moon lighting and exaggerating shadows.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, eye wildly scanning the trees. John grabbed Dean's swinging arm, pulling to teen to himself.

Dean adjusted, with a quick gaze up to his father, then returning to desperately search to forest.

Dean's flashlight flickered, shinning across large, shadowed trees, vines, leaves, and who knew what else.

Unless Melinda Dermer showed herself, they might never see Sammy again.

John looked down at Dean, catching the boy's eye only for a moment. And Dean felt another wave of guilt wash over him.

"Melinda Dermer!" John called loudly, searching the woods as well, forcefully holding back… shit.

Dean looked back at his father.

Tears? There was no way. Dean couldn't remember a time when his Dad had cried, or even had tears in his eyes. John Winchester and tears seemed liked a foreign concept. Not comfortable or safe.

John continued. "We have a hell of a matter to settle!"

A cold rush of wind cut through the two remaining Winchesters painfully, disturbing the leaves on the ground. Dean whirled about, looking for the ghost. John held his flashlight in one hand and an iron crowbar in the other, ready.

"Who requests my presence?" The ghost asked in a cold voice.

Dean jerked forward, his eyes narrowing at the cold form before him. Bitch stole took his brother.

"Where is he?" Dean yelled. John grabbed his son roughly pulling him back from her.

She glanced at him with disdain. "The boy?" She laughed jubilantly. "You won't see him again."

"You killed him?!" Dean was shocked. Pissed. Mortified. He was going to kill her. "I'll kill you! You-you, bitch!" He almost screamed the last word, lunging forward again, before sagging in his Dad's arms.

John restrained the teen, holding Dean by his arms. Rage and fear for his son threatened to buckle his knees. _Slow it down. Think it through_. Dean sagged in his arms. Dean needed him to be calm. John took a steadying breath, pulling his oldest up and setting Dean on his feet.

"Where is he?" He asked calmly.

"Somewhere you will be soon." She gazed evenly at him.

"What's your deal?" Dean looked up, adjusting his jacket roughly and giving her a hateful glare. "All this over some dude you loved, huh?"

It fucking hurt to say it. It hurt to speak.

She looked puzzled. "I do not—"

John looked at the fifteen year old in surprise. Dean nodded. "Yeah. Mordi….. Mac…er, Mark…Marcus! Marcus."

She shivered, lunging for him. She grabbed Dean, pinning him to the ground. Dean gasped. It came out slightly high-pitched and girly, and in retrospect, or hindsight, or whatever the fuck people called it, he would have taken it. But it freaking hurt.

"Get away from him!" John growled, jumping forward.

Without looking, Melinda threw a hand outward and slammed John back into a tree, pinned motionless.

"Get off him, you bitch!" John screamed.

Melinda's head tilted, fluid, snakelike as she finally regarded him. "Let's hear what the little devil has to say."

Dean panted hoarsely, struggling to release himself from her cold grip holding him to the ground.

"You loved him, right?" He grunted. "But you couldn't."

"Aren't you clever?" She said, almost indulgently.

John pushed against the bands of air holding him in place.

"Why couldn't you?" Dean asked, trying to pull his arms and shoulders out of her grip.

She blinked.

Dean's mind raced. Love….girls. He could do girls. Yeah. But actually figuring them out, well, was that even possible? He looked back at Melinda, her gaze was patient enough. She was probably hot, you know, back when she was alive. So what was her deal? Why the hell couldn't she love the guy?

Light bulb. No really, Dean wanted a freaking light bulb above his head. He was a genius. Mostly.

"They thought you were insane."

"Oh, give the boy a prize." She replied, her eyes glinting dangerously. She leaned in further. Freaking perverted was what it was, Dean thought.

"So, uh, so you saw things. Right? Like, supernatural shit?" Dean asked, hoping to all things high and holy he was right and she wouldn't kill him.

"Mm."

"Like what?"

She looked taken aback, or something like that. Whatever surprised ghost looked like.

"Dark creatures."

"You mean like you?"

"I wasn't a spirit at the time!" She shouted, pressing down on him again with more force. Her teeth snapped at him.

"Okay, okay. Chill, lady. I get you. You were a kid. You saw shit and told people, but no one believed you, right?"

She didn't move, so Dean figured he was getting somewhere.

"And that guy, uh, Marcus? He didn't either. What, were you two gonna get hitched?"

She tilted her head, seeming more innocent than murderous.

"Married. Were you getting married?"

"Why should I tell you—" Her voice rose dangerously.

Dean held up what he could of his hands. "Okay, okay. Here me out. I've known about the supernatural my whole life…pretty much. And let me tell you, it hasn't been easy. I understand." He watched her carefully. "I bet you loved him a lot. But he was an asshole. Really. Totally not worth it."

"Oh, well what do you suggest?" She replied snidely.

Dean shrugged, or tried to. "I'd say dump him, but since he's dead, go dance on his grave. Get rid of his memories. Hell, do whatever." He grinned. "Get over him. You, uh, you seem like you aren't a bad chick. Er, weren't. Whatever."

She eyed him carefully. "I hardly think—"

"Please?" Dean intoned. "Take us to his grave. It's by yours', right?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes."

She pulled Dean up and John fell to the ground, panting.

XXXXX

"This is the place."

Her narrow hand beckoned to the old gravestone, overgrown with dead weeds and the memories of ancient flowers. Marcus Hamilton. Beloved father, brother, and son. R.I.P

A regular great guy. Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes. What was it with chicks and commitment? Or any of that love shit?

She floated thoughtfully. Then in a swift motion, raised her hand, bringing it down with a large crack. And the stone split in two. Dean's eyebrows rose, s he looked at his Dad. John swiped a hand through his hair.

Then Melinda gasped, her slender body arched and rolled like a cat. Light and energy crackled around her, erupting from the grave of her former lover. With an explosion of light, she vanished.

Forever. And damn her straight to Hell, thought Dean.

The two remaining Winchester stood for a moment, watching the dark ground in the cemetery with odd fascination. Dean sighed and John let his hand drop to the teen's shoulder to give it a squeeze. "You did well, son."

Dean looked at his Dad. Probably a good time for some dumb-ass remark, but he couldn't think of one. "Dad, we gotta find Sammy."

John's eye widened, and he gave a gruff nod, letting his hands fumble for his flashlight. The two left the area quickly, walking back into the wood in search of Sam.

And soon it started to feel like a freaking failed game of hide and seek. Dean hated it, but his dad would push forward, legs working faster or frown deepening. John freaking Winchester.

Dean shook his head.

But they were so close to Sam. John could feel it. Something floated within the shadows, making the air shiver. Sam was near and they were going to find him. Dead or alive. Dean blinked rapidly, the cold burning and drying out his eyes.

As they walked, John rested his hand at the back of Dean's neck, a squeeze of reassurance as they moved forward through the trees. Dean nodded, in sync. John wanted to tell the teen to go wait in the car, wait for him, but he also desperately wanted Dean within insight. He wanted both sons within eyesight.

John scanned the tree line, but the small eleven year old was nowhere. "Sam!" He shouted, head tilting back and lungs bursting with cold air. "Sam!"

Silence.

It had never felt so…alone. Dean's chest constricted as he trudged forward.

"Sammy!" He shouted with all of his might. Sammy, don't be dead. Don't be dead you little bastard…. Where was that kid?

XXXXX

Sam came to gasping in pain. He recoiled, expecting the ghost to still be at him, but he was alone. He chocked violently, he throat burning like hot sauce had burned a hole through. His throat ached, drilling a sharp pain with each exhalation. He fingered it and he struggled to get enough air. He fingered his T-shirt, the sweat and grime mixing in a foul smell. Great.

As the breaths became easier, less like the violent hiccupping of a dying whale, Sam slowly made it to a sitting position. He grimaced, fingering his throat, the bruises tender on his skin. It would take time to heal. Sam glanced around the area. He was in the thick of some woods. He realized he hadn't been there before. All he'd seen was smoke and Melinda. It had been much darker, with no moon to give even a faint hint of hope or reality.

Then he heard it.

"Sam!" It was faint, distant even. But it was hope. "Sam!" It came again.

He tried to shout, the breath catching in his mouth as the exertion ripped at his esophagus. Sam clutched his throat, slowly and painfully getting to his feet. His head spun and his hand fumbled to push himself up off the damp leaves, but he managed. He felt something like a hero in one of his books. Like he was on _The Incredible Journey_, or abandoned by the Ents with Merry and Pippin.

It wasn't supposed to hurt this bad though. Sam stumbled forward, his legs peppered with pins and needles.

"Sammy!" That was Dean. It was definitely Dean. The slight crack at the end, the desperation, and the older brother-bossiness of how he said it. For once it was comforting. Sam smiled and began to run.

XXXXX

They heard him before they could see him. And Dean and John broke into a run, legs pumping faster and faster towards the small shape of the youngest Winchester. Sam wasn't steady of his feet, running slowly and painfully, breaths coming in painful wheeze. But he saw them.

Dean got there first, grabbing Sam by the collar and crushing him in a hug. Damn that kid. "You scared the shit outta me, man." He clutched at his brother like his life depended on it. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

Then John grabbed the two in a strong embrace, he face breaking into a smile. "Dad?" The kid's voice was too breathy.

"I'm here." John's voice came out husky. "I'm here, Sammy."

Sam smiled inside the huddle, pushing Dean off him. "Geez, Dean, you're going to kill me. I can't breathe." He whined.

Dean ruffled his hair, breaking from the hug. "Just making sure you were okay, dickwad." He grinned.

Sam coughed. "Jerk."

Bitch." Dean drawled fondly.

John sighed. His boys. "You okay?" He looked down at the two scrutinizing.

Dean shrugged. "Just dandy, Pops."

John cuffed him on the back of the head, giving the teen a look. Dean just grinned, rubbing his head. So worth it.

Sam just nodded. "Yes, sir. I think I'll be okay."

John nodded, "Good."

He eyed the pronounced thumb-shaped bruises on Sam's neck. he was breathing easier, in longer, quieter breathes. the relief washing over him in floods. He loved them both, even if he didn't say it enough. Then his gaze turned serious. "What the hell possessed you to come here, after I give you strict orders to stay behind?" He growled.

Dean and Sam both had that, 'oh shit' look plastered on their faces, their joyful reunion cut painfully short. It was inevitable, Dean thought.

"I—" Dean began.

"You know what?" John interrupted. "I don't want to hear it. I want your asses in the car. We're going back to the hotel, sleeping this off and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

The boys looked relieved, exchanging glances.

"Let's go, double time!" John said forcefully and the threesome took off towards the Impala.

**TBC**

**Thank you all again for your reviews! You all are positively inspiring:) ****Also, my files have been recovered from the hard drive, thankfully, so my next update shouldn't be too far off.**


	6. Chapter 6

**The Sense We Left Behind 6**

By 0600 the next morning, both Sam and Dean found themselves admiring the puce wallpaper in their respective corners of the room. It looked like how they felt like. Dean would have said shit, but green was more like the contents of his stomach the night before.

Who had that kind of track record? Two ass beatings in two days. In a row. Yep, Dean sighed, letting his head fall into the V where the walls met. This sucked.

"Okay, boys, front and center."

Man, who knew those few words could make your insides revolt? Even Sam squirmed from his place in the corner, eyes boring into the puce wallpaper. Sam turned to face his father and Dean walked back towards Sam.

Neither boy was willing to look Dad in the face, but each knew his own guilt. Too damn well. But guilt lurched in Dean and he decided to act. Or speak up. Hell, why not get it over with?

"It's my fault, Dad." He said. "I wanted to go."

"And Sammy magically appeared in the woods?" John asked sarcastically.

Sam shook his head. "No, sir. I wanted to come. I made Dean take me with him. He didn't want to, Dad, but I didn't give him a choice." He hung his head.

"Yeah, but I provoked the bitch, that's why she took you. So it's my fault." Dean looked down at his younger brother, eyes sad.

Sam began to protest.

"Enough." John glared, brows furrowed and his voice gravel rough. "Dean, I depend on you to follow the rules when I'm gone. To watch out for yourself and Sammy. I depend on you to be responsible. I know it's hard, but this was a helluva poor judgment call on your part."

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir. I know."

"Well, you just earned yourself two weeks grounding. Starting today."

Dean nodded again. He could live with that.

"And Sammy?" John continued.

"Yes, sir?"

"Your job is first, the listen to me. I gave you and your brother a direct order to stay in the hotel."

Sam nodded. "Yes, sir."

"When I'm gone, who's in charge?"

"Dean."

"Damn straight. You listen to your brother. If he tells you to do your homework, you do your homework. If he tells you to go to bed, you do it. If he's pulling a dumb-ass stunt and tells you to stay behind, you stay in the motel."

Sam nodded again, hanging his head.

"You disobeyed me and your brother tonight. Do you think those rules simply didn't apply?" John's voice was softer, still maintaining the ferocity and seriousness of before. If that was even possible.

Sam shook his head vehemently. "No, sir. It wasn't like that, Dad! I Just wanted to help."

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have been killed." He looked at them both. "Both of you."

Dean hung his head as well. And the two mumbled a 'sorry, sir'. Collective, yet with different meanings.

John nodded. "Sammy. You'll join you're brother for the next two weeks. School, PT, and research."

Sam nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Alright, Dean, find a corner. Sam, with me."

Dean nodded slowly, giving Sam a reassuring glance before heading into the corner he had vacated only recently as his father sat down on one of the beds, motioning Sam over his lap.

Sam gulped, but made the few steps over to the bed quickly. There was no use putting it off.

John looked up at the sad eleven year old. "Jeans and boxers, kiddo."

Sam dropped his pants and leaned over his father's lap. It didn't take long for Dad to start whaling on his ass. Sam didn't think about much. Not Dean listening in the corner, or the thin hotel walls. Spankings were like that. Everything going on around him filtered out of his brain as his father spanked him. It hard not to.

And his Dad had him crying in no time, his backside a blazing furnace. It wasn't the worst beat down Sam had received, but it was bad. If he had to rank it, top five. Definitely. Sam decided his Dad was probably worried about the slight wheezing that started near the end. Of course, he was crying too loudly to pay much attention, but his throat still hurt. And honestly, he didn't care why his Dad stopped. He just wanted off his Dad's lap.

With a final swat, Dad let him off his lap, giving Sam's shoulder a squeeze before pointing to the corner.

"Dean."

Sam couldn't see his brother, but he heard him. Sam leaned his head forward into the corner of the wall, trying to breathe over the shudders that overtook his body. Dean slowly moved from the corner to his father.

"You know the drill. Jeans and boxers."

Dean honestly expected his Dad to reach for his belt, but his Dad only sat, looking evenly at his oldest. Dean quickly dropped trou, and leaned over his Dad's lap.

He was glad he wasn't getting the belt, but damn if this didn't make him feel like a naughty little kid. Then there was the steady stream of hand to ass action. The building pain of red-hot fury burning behind him. And Dean yelped, and squirmed, and hollered. Because it was inevitable. And his Dad's hand was freaking hard!

Then the tears came, also expected. And Dean sobbed into his dad's knees the final swats elicited gasps of pain. Shit that had hurt. Then John pulled the boy up, giving Dean a quick hug and helping him to his feet. As terrible a walking around sans pants was, Dean wasn't about to put his jeans back on. Hell no. So he shuffled to his own corner, sniffing loudly and fisting the tears from his eyes as he regained his composure.

After what seemed like an eternity, they heard the telltale sniff. The one which meant Dad was about to say something after much thought and consideration. "C'mere boys."

Sam and Dean were quick to pull their jeans back up from around their ankles, allowing similar grunts of pain as the rough fabric touched their scorched asses. And John almost smiled at their matching grimaces.

John stood, pulling each boy into a hug, surprising his son's. It wasn't like he didn't hug them. And Sam and Dean knew he loved them, but Dad wasn't hugs and kisses and smiles. He was hard as nails, a marine, and a hunter. He was their rock and their rules. So a hug wasn't expected. But it felt pretty damn good. And even Dean felt himself melting into his father's embrace, yearning for reassurance. Because, you know, it didn't hurt every once and a while.

Dean grinned. "Yeesh, Dad, a person might think you care."

John glared evenly at the boy. "You could have been, killed, Dean. Don't disobey mu orders again. I'd hurt me, son."

Dean nodded, smile sliding off his face as he and Sam allowed stiff 'yes, sirs.'

John nodded. "You two must be hungry. Let's get some breakfast."

"Honestly, Dad. I'm just plain tuckered out and I feel like shit. I could probably sleep for the next teen years."

Sam nodded.

"Language, kiddo." John growled, but the effect was slightly different as he smiled. "I'll get breakfast. You two sleep, and for God's sake, don't leave the hotel room!"

The boys laughed. Yeah, it wasn't worth it.

**End.**

**Thank you to all my dedicated reviewers, it's been so great to hear from all of you:-)**


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